Accusation and Exit
by Cre Ookami
Summary: "Dean Winchester stands by the wall, drowning in the accusation that hangs heavy in the still air." In which Sam leaves for college, Dean is somewhat supportive, and John is livid. Rated for language.


This started out as a writing exercise and became a fic. I apologize. It's a little bit OOC, and not completely canon compliant, but I'm not even sure what the canon is in regards to this scenario, so that's fine.

As for the scenario, I feel like Dean would, originally, support Sam, because he has grown up supporting Sam. John, on the other hand, would throw a fit. So... well. Dean is somewhat supportive, and John throws a fit.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I only play in Kripke's sandbox.

* * *

Dean Winchester stands by the wall, drowning in the accusation that hangs heavy in the still air.

No one has said anything yet – they stand silent, wary – but it's there anyways, a steady hum of _blame_ and _betrayal_ that rings amongst the quiet breaths.

Sam opens his mouth to speak (to apologize, Dean hopes), but he closes it with a whisper of air. The tension continues to press, filling the room with _blame, betrayal, blame, betrayal_, rising, rising, building, building, too much, too loud, too-

It snaps. A whoosh of air, a half-strangled syllable: "Look-"

He's cut off, before he can speak, before he can defend or apologize, but it's enough.

"I don't want to hear it."

"Dad-"

"Don't want to hear it, Sam." Louder, more forceful. What a picture they make, Dean thinks. Sam towering over their grizzled father, paper clutched tight in hand. The black typeface against white looks so innocent in their run-down motel room. It is anything but. It is the reason for this argument, a few typed sentences that are going to catapult their family into chaos.

Because Sam wants to go to college. And John will not allow it.

Dean is conflicted. Sam is abandoning them (_his own family, how could he, after everything_) but at the same time it's Sammy, and Sammy's dream, and how can he oppose his little brother when everything he is has been built upon his brother's health and happiness?

Their father is not so torn. He is livid; how _dare_ Sam leave them, after everything they have gone through, after everything they have become. Dean knows this will not end well. Arguments between John Winchester and his youngest son never do.

"You're not going." There's no room for argument. Sam will try anyways, because he is Sam, and that is what he does.

Especially when it is his father giving the orders.

"Why not?"

"Because I won't allow it."

"Like hell you won't."

"Don't use that tone of voice with me, boy."

"I'll use whatever tone of voice I want to use, _sir_." The honorific is mocking, spit out through twisted lips. "You're not my minder-"

"Damn right I'm not your minder, I'm your father and I'm telling you no."

"You're not my father! You're my commanding officer, my drill sergeant, but you're sure as hell not my _father_!"

They've had fights, Dean knows – he's been there for most of them, the unwilling audience – but not like this, never like this (and he can see, now, toe to toe and face to face, that they do not fight because they are different, they fight because they are the same, more alike than Dean could ever hope to be).

"Watch your tone, boy."

"Make me."

"You are _not_ going!" John roars back. "You're a boy, you have _no idea_ what's out there-"

"Cause you haven't spent _every_ _day_ of my fucking _life_ teaching me," Sam growls back. "I'm eighteen, Dad, I'm an adult! I can make my own damn decisions!"

"You're a goddamn child who thinks he's good enough to take on the world alone but you're _not_! So shut up, sit down, and get your head out of the clouds. You're not going to college! You're a _hunter_, not some goddamned scholar!"

There's a moment of silence after that, and Dean knows by the way John steps back that he thinks he's won, think it's over. Dean knows Sam better though, knows what the narrowing of his eyes means. This isn't over.

Sam's rejoinder is quiet but, like the accusation, it rings out in the still air. "What if I don't want to hunt anymore?"

It's like lighting a fuse. John Winchester whirls back around, flaring up. For a moment Dean is sure he will hit Sam, and he doesn't know what he will do then, because no matter what, John has never hit his children. Sam's point-blank betrayal might change that.

It doesn't, but it's a close thing. He roars back his own challenge, though. "'Don't want to hunt?' It's not a choice, Sammy. It's in your _blood_. Damn it, I thought you would know that by now. Hunting ain't a job, boy, it's life. You can't _quit_."

"Like hell I can't!"

"You're abandoning your own _kin_, Sam. Your flesh and blood! You even remember why we're here in the first place?"

"What, to catch Mom's killer? Like _that's _gonna happen! We've been on this damned thing's trail for eighteen years, and we have _nothing_! You've just been dragging us along on your stupid, selfish, _pointless_ quest for revenge!"

That hits a nerve. "Shut up, Sam. Shut the hell up right now."

"Why? Cause you don't want to face the truth? She's gone, Dad, and she's not coming back. The trail's gone, and you're chasing after _nothing_! You can't see what's in front of your fucking face. You forced us into this _life_, and I don't want to be part of it anymore!"

"Is that how you feel about it, boy?" John Winchester's anger is icy as he strides to the door. "Then get out. Get out now!" He goes as far as to open the door for him, gesturing to the humid, black night outside the threshold. "Leave, and don't come back. Don't you _dare_ come back!"

Sam, for the first time, looks the slightest bit uncertain, almost apologetic. "Dad..."

A growl in reply. "Haven't you made it clear that you're no son of mine."

And despite everything they've said to each other, that's what really drives him out the door. What comes next is filled with hot anger hiding hurt, curses never to be repeated, blind eyes turning to deliver a parting shot framed by a slammed door.

And then:

Silence.

John Winchester sinks onto a bed, glances up when Dean shifts against the wall. "Well?" he demands. Dean hesitates a second longer, then slips out the door.

He's running then, running after Sammy (_protect Sammy, help Sammy; take your brother outside as fast as you can – don't look back_). He catches up at the highway.

Sam eyes him warily. "You come to defend Dad?"

Dean raises his hand in surrender. "I'm not getting into that." He has no apology for their father's behavior anyways; he's here to be the brother (_brother first, always the brother first_), not the soldier or the son. His own betrayal can be put aside for Sam, because Sam comes first. Sam always comes first.

Sam scowls at him, but there's no heat in it. "Look, man-"

"It's fine," Dean cuts him off. It's not, not at all, not really, but it's what Sammy needs to hear. "I get it. You gotta go get your geek on." He slaps his brother on the back. "I get it," he repeats.

Sam shoves his hand away. "Yeah, whatever. Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean shoots back. They share a laugh, then sober up. "But really, Sammy. It'll be fine. Dad'll get over it."

"Yeah." He snorts. "Sure."

Dean hesitates. "I'll visit. Make sure you get out at least once in a while, yeah? College is the time to live a little."

"Whatever you say, Dean." Sam knows he means it though; he relaxes and lets Dean shove him playfully. "But, listen... I know you're not really okay with it-"

Dean doesn't want to talk about it. "Sammy. It's fine."

"Yeah, but-"

"Dude. Drop it."

Sam hesitates, then shrugs. "Whatever you say," he repeats dubiously. Dean nods, then hugs him in a rare display of affection.

"You better call though," he warns. Sam laughs.

"I will."

The hover a moment longer, then Sam shrugs his bag on his shoulder and Dean steps back, and they're walking opposite directions, going back home and far away respectively.

Back at the motel, though, Sam is gone. John Winchester sits, cradling a beer, as if it never happened, as if he has only ever had one son.

The accusation, humming in the still air and beating with a heart and life of its own, remains.

* * *

Reviews are, as always, welcome.


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